Table Of ContentThe Number One Bestseller
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How
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One of the blinding talents on the female fiction scene'
Daily Record
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012
http://archive.org/details/howwilliknowOOshei
Sheila O'Flanagan is the author ofmany No. 1 best
selling novels, including Anyone but Htm, Too Good
to be True and IsobeTs Weddinjj, as well as the short
story collections Destinationsand Connections.
Sheila pursued a very successful career in banking,
becoming Ireland's first woman ChiefDealer, before
she decided to become a full-time writer. She has a
weekly column in the Irish Times, md she also plays
badminton at competition level.
Also by Sheila O^Flanagan
Suddenly Single
Far From Over
My Favourite Goodbye
He's Got to Go
IsobePs Wedding
Caroline's Sister
Too Good to be True
Dreaming ofa Stranger
Destinations
Anyone but Him
Connections
How
Will
Know?
I
Sheila O'Flanagan
headline
review
Copyright©2005 SheilaO'Flanagan
The rightofSheilaO'Flanaganto be identifiedastheAuthorof
theWorkhasbeenassertedbyherinaccordancewiththe
Copyright, Designsand PatentsAct 1988.
Firstpublishedin2005
byHEADLINE BOOKPUBLISHING
Firstpublishedinpaperbackin2006
byHEADLINE REVIEW
AnimprintofHEADLINE BOOKPUBLISHING
AHEADLINEREVIEWpaperback
13
ApartfromanyusepermittedunderUKcopyrightlaw,this
publicationmayonlybereproduced,stored,ortransmitted,in
anyform,orbyanymeans,withpriorpermissioninwritingof
thepublishersor,inthecaseofreprographicproduction,in
accordancewiththetermsoflicencesissuedbythe
CopyrightLicensingAgency.
Allcharactersinthispublicationarefictitious
andanyresemblance torealpersons,livingordead,
ispurelycoincidental.
ISBN978-0-7553-0759-3
Typesetin Galliard byPalimpsestBookProductionLimited,
Polmont,Stirlingshire
Printedand boundinGreatBritain by
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It takes more than me at the computer to get the print
on the pages so thanks to:
Carole Blake who makes me fed like I know what I'm
doing
Marion Donaldson who reminds me of what Pm meant
to be doing
Team Headline who know what they're doing thankfulh
My family who have always supported me doing what I'm
doing (even when it means forgetting them sometimes -
sorry about that)
My friends who let me get on with doing what Pm doing
and who very kindly buy the end result
Colm who often makes me do something else
Andspecial thanks all ofyou who buy my books, who make
doing what I do, and what I always wanted to do - writing
them - so wonderful by your support and encouragement.
Extrathankstoeveryone who has taken the time out to sign
the guestbook on my website wvvw.sheilaotlanagan.net
.
Whenever Iworry about how things are going I read the
comments and feel energised again. I reallv appreciate it.
Thank you again!
Chapter
1
Anchusa (Summer Forget-Me-Not) - Blue, white, pink or
mauvestar-shaped blossoms coverbranchingstems. Water in
dry weather.
Claire woke up earlier than usual on the morning
Georgia was due to go to summer camp tor a month.
She layin bedwith hereyes closed tor a couple ofminutes
while she tried to figure out what was different about the
day and then it struck her. It was the absence of noise
more especiallythe absence ofthe gentle hiss of"rain which
had been present every single morning tor the last two
weeks - that had woken her. The only sound was of the
birds singing in the apple trees outside the house
She opened hereyes and slid out from underthe sheets
The early-morning sun - something she hadn't seen in
ages - filtered through the chink in the heavy damask
curtains. She pulled them open and blinked in the unex-
pectedly bright light. Then she took her white silk robe
from the back of the bedroom door and tiptoed down
stairs so that she wouldn't wake her fourteen \ear-old
Sheila O'Flanagan
daughter. Not, she thought, that there was really much
chance ofthat. Most mornings-a pickaxe wouldn't have
gone amiss when trying to prise Georgia out of bed -
Claire would spend ages shaking her and calling out her
name before Georgia budged. But she felt that this
morning might be different, because Georgia was thrilled
abouthertriptothe Irish Collegein Galwayandhad been
wildlyoverexcitedthenightbefore. IthadtakenallClaire's
powers ofpersuasion to get her to bed in the first place,
and she knew that Georgia had spent at least an hour
reading or listening to her shiny pink iPod in her room
afterwards because she'd been able to see the glow ofthe
light from beneath her door. So she didn'treallywant her
waking up too early now.
She went into the kitchen and opened the back door.
Phydough, their two-year-old mainly Old English
Sheepdog (hismotherwaspure-bredand beautiful buthis
fatherhadleggeditafterhismomentofillicitlust), barked
happily at her. Claire had chosen the quirky spelling of
Fido from a children's book that Georgia had once loved,
believing that a dog of his undoubted intelligence and
dignity needed a special name.
'Quiet, Phy,' she whispered. 'Don't wake the entire
neighbourhood!'
The dog gave a small woof and then wagged his tail
enthusiastically. Claire scratched him behind his ears and
took a pouch of food from the cupboard. Phydough
jumpeduponhishindlegsandleanedagainstthecupboard
doors, his soft brown eyes eager with anticipation.
'Down, Phy,' she said. 'Sit.' She filled the bright blue
